𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦…𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘣𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨
sub!ellie x reader
wc: 2.7k
cw: dry humping, oral(r!giving), fingering(r!giving)
this one's a bit short my apologies
The wind howled behind you, flinging snow in thick, chaotic spirals across the mountain trees. Your boots crunched the hard-packed snow on the cabin’s steps, the wood groaning softly beneath your weight. You shook out your coat on the porch, stamping your boots twice before pushing the door open, the heat inside smacking you in the face like a warm breath.
The cabin was quiet — that heavy kind of quiet that came with deep snow and isolation. The wood stove crackled low in the hearth, its orange glow flickering against the log walls. You could still hear the storm hissing outside the frosted windows. Your fingers ached from the cold, and your toes were completely numb in your boots. You’d been splitting wood for hours, clearing paths, trying to stay ahead of the weather. You hadn’t wanted her out there — not today, not after how restless she’d been in her sleep last night, murmuring things you couldn’t quite make out, twitching like she was back somewhere awful.
You had told her to stay home. Rest. That you’d handle everything.
You peeled off your gloves and rubbed your hands together as you stepped further inside. The floor creaked under your weight as you headed toward the staircase. You figured maybe a hot bath would be the fastest way to thaw the ache in your bones.
But halfway up the stairs, you paused.
There was a sound — faint, rhythmic. Not the crackle of firewood. Not the groan of wind. Softer. Like a muffled breath… or a stifled whimper.
You blinked, heartbeat picking up just a little. Quietly, you crept up the last few steps and turned down the narrow hallway. The door to the small bedroom you shared was cracked open just enough for the light to spill out into the dim hall.
You pushed it open gently.
Flat on her stomach, hips rolling in slow, clumsy waves against a pillow that had clearly been pulled beneath her. Her jeans were discarded on the floor beside the bed, one leg half-tangled in the blanket. Her tank top was twisted up her back, exposing a stretch of pale, freckled skin, soft and flushed. Her breath came in low, desperate puffs, her fingers fisting the sheets. Her shirt—your shirt, actually—was wrapped around the pillow she was grinding against, as if she’d done it on instinct. As if holding it made her feel closer to you.
Your stomach turned over.
You didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there. Stunned. Struck silent by something so painfully intimate. Something so human.
Her hips bucked again, slow and needy, the heel of her foot digging into the mattress to push harder. Her face was turned slightly to the side, her cheek pressed into the pillow—until her eyes cracked open.
She jolted like she'd been electrocuted, gasping sharply. “Oh—oh shit!” she yelped, scrambling to grab the blanket and yank it up over her ass. Her face flushed bright red, panic twisting her features. “I—I didn’t hear you come in! Fuck—fuck, I’m sorry—shit, I didn’t mean to—”
“Ellie,” you said, blinking in disbelief, a slow, stunned smile creeping onto your face. You lifted a brow. “Were you… having fun without me?”
Her face went impossibly redder. “Don’t—don’t make fun of me,” she stammered, hiding half her face in the pillow like she wanted to disappear. “Jesus fucking Christ, this is so humiliating…”
You took a few slow steps toward the bed, your voice softening. “I’m not making fun of you.”
Her shoulders were tense, trembling. The blanket still clutched around her waist. She wouldn’t meet your eyes.
“I just—fuck, I missed you. You were gone so long. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About your hands, your voice, the way you hold me. I didn’t think you’d be home this early…”
Your heart twisted a little at that.
“Ellie,” you murmured. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.”
“I wasn’t gonna, like, make you do anything,” she added quickly, eyes darting to yours in panic. “I just—ugh, god, this is so pathetic. You don’t have to say anything. Just fucking go. I’ll pretend it didn’t happen.”
Instead, you sat down at the edge of the bed, careful, slow. Your hand brushed over her ankle. It was cold, her skin warm only where the blanket had clung to her.
“You miss me that much, huh?” you said softly.
She groaned and shoved her face into the pillow again. “Fuck. Stop teasing me…”
You smiled and leaned forward, your fingers trailing slowly up the back of her calf, over the swell of her knee, then pausing at the hem of the blanket still pulled tight around her hips.
She leaned in slowly, trembling like a taut wire, her breath short, raspy almost wheezing with how hard her lungs were working. You could feel it coming off her in waves, that nervous heat, that low smolder of wanting. She smelled like cedar smoke and skin. Like something desperate trying to stay soft.
Her eyes flicked between yourswild and searching before you closed the distance.
Your lips pressed together, gentle at first, but Ellie whined into the kiss, high in her throat, and you felt it shoot straight down your spine. Her hands were on you instantly, greedy and clumsy, palms warm, fingers calloused. She fumbled, grabbing at your breasts through your shirt like she didn’t know where to start, just knew she had to touch you. You let out a breathless laugh, and that only made her whine again deeper this time, needier.
“Come here,” she rasped, barely audible, tugging until you let her pull you on top of her.
You followed her down, your knees straddling her hips. The blanket twisted under you both, her legs spread open beneath your weight, her thighs already twitching with tension. You kissed her again, slower now, deeper. Her mouth opened for you without hesitation, lips parting on instinct, and you cupped her jaw to keep her right where you wanted her. Your tongue slid in—slick, slow, knowing—and she let out a helpless sound that vibrated against your teeth.
Her hips bucked upward frantically, searching for friction. She was trying to grind against you, even though her legs were shaking, even though her breath kept hitching and breaking every time your mouths met. Her hands slid under your shirt, shaking as they groped at your chest, her eight fingers trembling with urgency. She squeezed your breasts too roughly, like she didn’t know how to be gentle yet, and you hissed a little at the sensitivity—but didn’t stop her.
“Slow down,” you whispered against her lips, teasing. “God, you’re shaking.”
“I can’t,” she whimpered, voice cracking. “You’re so—fuck—please—”
You chuckled softly and dipped your head down, brushing your mouth along the sharp line of her jaw. She twitched when you reached her neck. One kiss—just one—and her entire body jolted like you’d shocked her. Her eyes fluttered shut, teeth catching on her bottom lip, her whole body quivering.
“Sensitive,” you murmured, grazing her throat again.
Ellie nodded frantically, almost ashamed. “Sorry fuck I’m trying—”
You cut her off with another kiss, slower this time, more controlled. She melted into it, losing herself, letting you lead. You rocked your hips forward then, lining up your center with hers and grinding down—slow, firm pressure.
Her reaction was instant.
She cried out against your mouth, hands flying down to grip your ass, squeezing hard as she tried to pull you closer, deeper, anything. Her thighs tensed under you, her hips lifting to meet your rhythm, her breath breaking in uneven gasps between kisses.
You tilted your head, kissing the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then just beneath her ear where her pulse fluttered like a moth. She was flushed all the way down her throat, hair sticking to her temples, her skin damp and burning.
“You’re doing so good,” you whispered, voice low, brushing your nose against hers. “You want me to keep going?”
She nodded wildly. “Yes—yes, please. Just—don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
And God, part of you ached with how beautiful she looked like this—undone, messy, and open. The girl you’d known all your life, tough and guarded, now trembling beneath you in nothing but her shirt and her desperation. She wasn’t performing like so many others had. She wasn’t trying to be sexy. She was, in a way that felt so much more real.
You couldn’t stop looking at her. Couldn’t stop kissing her.
You had never touched her like this before. Never crossed that line. Three months ago, she’d collapsed in front of you, sobbing into your knees, asking—begging—you to stay. She told you she was tired of being alone. That everyone left. That she didn’t want to be left behind anymore.
You didn’t say anything that night. You just held her. But you stayed.
And now here you were, kissing her over and over on her mouth, her cheeks, her neck. Her hands still roaming, still trying to undress you even as they trembled with every squeeze. She ground up into you helplessly, her sounds high and breathy and soft.
You’d had your fair share of lovers—especially in Jackson. Lonely women, tired wives, travelers with too much whiskey and too few rules. You were good at this. You knew how to take the lead, how to read a body, how to pull moans like thread from between someone's lips.
She wasn’t just wet. She was soaked. Sloppy. Every grind of your hips drew a whimper, every kiss a twitch. She was desperate—like her body had been waiting for this since the day you moved in. She clung to you like you were the only thing anchoring her to the earth.
And for a moment—just a moment—you weren’t sure if you could keep up the act. If you could stay calm, composed, experienced.
Because seeing her like this?
It didn’t make you feel powerful. It made you feel electrified.
Like you were teetering on the edge of something huge.
You pulled back just enough to look down at her. Her lips were swollen, her pupils blown wide, her hair a complete mess. She looked wrecked—and you hadn’t even really touched her yet.
“I want to make you feel good,” you whispered, forehead resting against hers.
“You already are,” she breathed.
You nodded slowly, breath brushing hot against her cheek while your hand drifted down the flat plane of her stomach. You didn’t rush. You let your fingertips trace every shallow dip and every rise of her breathing, letting her feel the anticipation drag over her like warm syrup. Goosebumps surged across her skin in a wave, her lower stomach tightening, quivering with every pass of your hand.
Ellie couldn’t stay still—her hips kept grinding at nothing, lifting off the mattress in broken little jerks like her body was begging for friction anywhere it could get it. Her slick had smeared up the inside of her thighs from grinding on the pillow earlier, and now it glistened on her skin in the firelight. She let out soft, frantic whimpers every time your touch dipped lower, only for you to tease back up again, circling her belly button, dragging down the faint line of muscle that appeared when she tensed.
“Please…” she breathed, voice thin, already falling apart.
But she didn’t wait for you.
Her hand shot out, grabbed your wrist hard—almost painfully—and dragged it down between her legs. She didn’t guide you; she took you. She forced your hand exactly where she wanted it and shoved your fingers inside her in one desperate, trembling motion.
Two fingers. All the way.
Your eyes went wide as she gasped sharply, back arching, mouth falling open. She squeezed around you instantly—tight, hot, flooding—and her hips rolled up to meet your hand like she’d been starving for this.
“Jesus, Ellie—” you muttered under your breath, shocked at how ready she already was.
But she wasn’t hearing anything.
Her face was flushed, sweat beading at her hairline, her breaths coming out little and high. She started riding your fingers immediately—messy, uneven thrusts, her hips rising and falling in frantic, needy motions. Her nails dug into your forearm hard enough to leave half-moon marks, holding your hand exactly where she needed it, refusing to let you adjust or take control.
“I’m—f-fuck—” she stuttered, voice cracking. “I’m so close—don’t—don’t move—just—”
You stayed silent, watching her. Completely fascinated.
You barely had to do anything. She was using your hand like it was hers, grinding down, then lifting, then pushing herself back onto your fingers with a desperation that made your own breath hitch.
Usually, you would stop a lover who got this frantic. Slow them down. Take over. Guide them through it so they didn’t burn themselves out too fast.
But watching Ellie—Ellie—come apart like this?
Watching her lose every ounce of composure, every wall she’d ever built, every tough-girl, quiet, distant mask she wore?
Her thighs shook violently as she fucked herself on your hand, her slick dripping down your knuckles, the sound wet and rhythmic in the quiet room. She whimpered each time she came down onto your fingers, her breath stuttering, her whole body trembling like she was fighting something too big for her.
Her mouth dropped open in a silent cry before she sucked in a trembling gasp, her body clamping hard around your fingers. Her hips jerked, seized, then froze as the orgasm ripped through her. She whimpered—tiny, high, helpless—her hand still crushing your wrist even as she came.
When she finally sagged into the mattress, panting, she yanked your fingers out abruptly, her eyes glassy and overwhelmed.
You wiped a smear of slick on her hip and raised a brow, smirking.
“You gonna let me do it now?” you teased lightly.
She shot you a glare that would’ve been threatening if her legs weren’t still twitching.
“Don’t—fucking—laugh at me,” she muttered, biting her lip, trying to regain control. Her hips, traitorously, kept grinding upward at the air—like her body wanted more before her mind could even react.
Your gaze dropped between her legs.
Her clit was swollen, flushed, throbbing visibly in the soft folds of her slick. Every breath she took made it twitch. She was soaked, messy, needy in a way you’d never seen her before. It pulled something deep and primal out of you.
You lowered yourself slowly, kissing down her stomach.
One kiss at the top—she shivered.
Another lower—her stomach jerked.
Another just above her mound—her hand shot into your hair before she forced herself to let go.
You paused, breath warm against her skin.
Her hips lifted again, impatient.
“Come on…” she whispered, voice hoarse. “Don’t—don’t tease me. Just—I need—”
You chuckled and gently took her hands, placing them back on the mattress beside her head.
“Be patient,” you murmured, kissing her mound—slow, warm, deliberate.
She bucked wildly, her thighs pressing against your shoulders, her moans getting louder and more helpless. She couldn’t control her hips—every tiny brush made her twitch and gasp.
Then you pressed your tongue flat against her throbbing clit—just pressure—and waited.
She froze like she was bracing for impact, hands gripping the sheets so tight her knuckles went white. Her hips stuttered, her breath catching in a sharp, broken gasp.
“Fuck—f-fuck—please,” she begged, voice raw. “Move—move—move—please—please—”
You smiled against her and finally swirled your tongue—slow circles, lazy and smooth.
That was all she could take.
Her hands flew back into your hair, gripping tight as her hips jerked up uncontrollably. Her thighs clamped around your head as another orgasm slammed into her—hard and sudden and overwhelming. Her back arched completely off the bed, her eyes squeezing shut as she let out a strangled, incoherent sound.
She shook—violently—her whole body trembling as she tried to stay still but couldn’t. Every exhale was a broken whimper. She looked down at you through hooded, watery eyes, still clutching your hair as if you were the only thing keeping her anchored.
Her climax came in waves—long, shuddering rolls that made her thighs spasm around your ears. She kept whispering something—maybe your name, maybe “don’t stop,” maybe “oh god”—but none of it was intelligible.
And she looked absolutely fucking wrecked.
cloud divider: @cursed-carmine
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